Warning: Enough Fluff to Make You Puke
by Moonlight-is-Innocence
Summary: Another one of those "two characters doing things late at night" fanfics. Involves chocolate syrup and whipped cream / Slight DenNor but it might rot your teeth.
1. In Which There is Fluff

Yes, I spell magick and behaviour this way. Which means that, no, they are not typos.

Disclaimer: Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

Warnings: Enough fluff to make you puke.

Notes: Consider this an apology for not having updating anything for... I don't even know how long. Months? Something like that. Anyway, this is an apology fic for not having updated and a thank you to one absolutely darling reviewer who said in her review of my Hetalia Beauty & the Beast story that she checks everyday to see if it's updated ;w; She has no idea how good that made me feel. And if you read this, darling reviewer, I THANK YOU. I READ YOUR REVIEW, I JUST HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO REPLYING TO IT OR UPDATING THE FIC. I shall press on with that fic soon. The problem is that I had the next chapter written out, but I lost the notebook it was written in. (Yes, I write in notebooks first, then type ;3; ) So, I have to re-write it and the next chapter after that. AND THEN I will update.

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><p>"Psssst."<p>

Cobalt eyes blinked wearily open as the flaxen-haired male lay in his bed, mentally cursing the nuisance in his house. _Maybe if I just lie here and pretend to be asleep, he'll go away_, he thought to himself.

"Pssst! Hej! Psst, Noooorge!"

_Nei. I was wrong._

"What, Danmark?" The other snapped, turning around to face the annoying man peeking over the edge of his bed like a child.

"What, is so verily important that you have to break into my home and wake me up to tell it to me?" Norway glared.

"Well," Denmark dragged out the "l" sound with a cheeky smile. "I was thinking..."

"Don't hurt yourself," the blank-eyed nation muttered.

"I was thinking we could do something together!"

The other raised an eyebrow. "That's it? Why on Earth did you have to wake me up at..." He check his bedside alarm clock. "...2:03, in the morning for _that_?"

"But, Norge! It's been forever since we've done anything together, or even hung out!"

"I see you virtually every day, idiot. Not of my own accord, of course."

"Anyway, since I can tell you're totally on board with this, I was thinking we could get something to drink." Denmark had, at some point, made his way onto the bed and was sitting in close proximity to his so-called "best friend".

"I'm not getting out of bed to go drinking, fool. And get off my bed."

Now, the boisterous and clearly wide-awake blond man was pulling at Norway's resisting arm. "We could just hang out at home, y'know. Have some quality brother time. After all, I am the King and besides, Norway, wouldn't you want some of my awesomeness to rub off on you?"

"No." Norway wrenched his arm out of the the other's grasp with surprising strength. Norway was used to Denmark's treatment of him, however, and knew how to deal with it. "Now get out." That is, with blunt words and violence or magick, if necessary.

"I swear, Denmark, if you don't get out, I'm going to- Ouf! Danmark! Let me down." He growled, as his flamboyantly energetic friend lifted him up out of the bed—pajamas, sheets, and all—hoisted him over his shoulder, and carried him down the stairs. The shorter, thinner blonde pounded on the other's back the whole way down and into the kitchen. When they got there, Denmark sat Norway down on a chair and started rummaging through the fridge.

"What, pray-tell, are you doing now?"

"Wow, you're really talkative today, Norway!" The Dane mused happily and smiled to himself. He brought out 3 items from the fridge and then proceeded to raid the cabinets for a couple of mugs. Finding the desired items, he put them down on the table and started working.

Norway glared steadily, while Denmark made his creations with obvious, unfaltering glee. Finally finished, he slid one mug to Norway and kept the other for himself. The magick-wielding blonde glanced down at the contents of his cup and then closed his eyes for a moment, in disbelief.

"Chocolate milk? You woke me up in the middle of the night... to make _chocolate milk_?"

"Yep!" Denmark replied, delighted. "Oh and I almost forgot." With a _shhhhhrrrrr_, the Dane squirted out a dollop of whipped cream onto each of their drinks.

"There. Perfect!"

"You are a different level of moron, did you know that, Dane?"

"Eeeyup! I think... Anyway, you'd better start drinking. Your cream is getting all soggy. And soggy cream in chocolate milk is just gross!"

Denmark followed his own words and started gulping down the chocolated-flavoured dairy beverage, and managed to get a mustache of cream while he was at it. Norway, instead, glared at his mug as if it were the source of all his problems. Even though said source, the true culprit, was sitting right next to him. He found a clean spoon and twirled it around the cup to amuse himself while refusing to drink the beverage, if only in defiance of Denmark. He didn't doubt that the chocolate milk tasted good. After all, you couldn't really go wrong with such a drink. Not to mention, Denmark had a major sweet tooth and was good at making foods and drinks that involved any sort of sugar.

A prickle at the nape of the magick-wielder's neck told him that someone—a _certain_ someone—was watching him while he had been immersed in thought. He glanced over at the Danish man who's blank expression quickly turned into that of a smile. "Something wrong with your drink, Norge?" He asked curiously, tilting his head. He still had that stupid cream mustache... Norway sighed and grabbed a hand towel, wiping off the other's face of any vestiges of the dairy product.

"Oh! Takk, Norge!"

"Don't thank me, Danmark. I'm not your mother. Learn to clean your own face," Norway harrumphed in his chair, crossing his arms. He still didn't know why he hadn't just left to go back to his bed yet. He supposed it was because that was something Denmark would do. Norway was more polite than Denmark, so he refused to stoop to simply storming out.

The idiot was still grinning at him and it was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Can I help you?"

"We should do this more often, don't ya think? Like maybe tomorrow night!"

"No."

"Why not? I know you're not busy!" The Dane smirked cheekily, as if he knew something his friend knew not. This aroused suspicion in Norway, who cocked an eyebrow at Denmark.

"How do you know?"

"Well..." He paused dramatically. "There might be a small possibility that I may have snuck into your personal files and copied down your schedule. To know when you were free, of course! See that's how I knew that we could do something tonight. Because you've got nothin' tomorrow." Denmark grinned, clearly very proud of himself. "Not that you wouldn't make time for me anyway. You are my best friend, after all."

"...Norway?" Denmark looked at his friend, who had apparently fallen unconscious during Denmark's rambling. "Eh? Heeeej, Noooorge!"

"Norway!" He gripped the flaxen-haired man by the shoulders, shaking the limp body frantically.

...No. Denmark did not understand that his friend was merely asleep.

Somewhat angered and sleep-heavy eyes blinked open—well, half-open—to stare up at the wide-eyed gaze of the former-King. Blearily, Norway gathered up all the sheets and blanket that had been dragged downstairs with him but had fallen out of the taller man's grasp before they had arrived at the kitchen. He wrapped himself in the linens and sat back down on the chair, looking up at Denmark again, this time expectantly.

"What?"

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Annoyed eyes drooped with sleep.

"You carried me down here."

"Yes, I did!" Denmark nodded obliviously.

"I'm tired. Carry me back upstairs."

"You want me to carry you...?" The confused Dane tilted his head again. Most people would find that endearing, deeming such a behaviour to be puppy-like. Not Norway. He puffed his cheeks out (not pouting, mind you), in annoyance. "That's what I just said, moron. I didn't want to leave my bed in the first place. Now, carry me back upstairs."

"Well, all right, if that's what you want," Denmark replied. He stood, scooping the other up easily and in a much gentler manner than the first time that night. He didn't let the sheets or blanket drag on the ground and by the time they got back to the bedroom, Norway was fast asleep in Denmark's arms. The taller man untangled his companion from the linens and set him down back onto the bed. He rearranged the sheets in a neat and more comfortable way.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed and expecting to only be there briefly, he smiled at Norway. His best friend shifted a little in his sleep, unconsciously getting closer to the other body—and source of more heat—on the bed. The Dane chuckled quietly and grinned more, fondly brushing the bangs out of his friend's face before attempting to leave.

However, slim but calloused fingertips grasped Denmark's t-shirt and he gingerly scooted onto the bed to lie next to his Norway. Soon enough, drowsiness crept over the rowdiest of the Northern countries and Denmark fell into a comfortable sleep, an arm wrapped around his best friend.


	2. And Then There Were Two

And then there were two.

(Second chapter done for the shiggles... Also, I needed to balance out the fluff.)

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><p>The next morning, Norway woke up alone in his bed, which smelled like beer, sugar, and strong men's deodorant. Pungent breakfast smells wafted through the halls and doorway, which prompted Norway to fully believe that the annoying dream he'd had last night (for he was sure he'd felt annoyed all throughout that—well, what he hoped had been—dream) was actually, to his dismay, a reality. And to top it all off, Denmark was still in his house (this was not an uncommon occurrence, however).<p>

A feeling of deja vu swept over the flaxen-haired man as he traipsed down the stairs to the kitchen. Waiting for him was a breakfast of typical Norwegian spread, though he rarely ate much in the morning. Forgivingly, there was coffee ready and mixed with cream the way he liked it. Not surprising, considering the Dane's apparently-stalker-like tendencies.

Said Dane turned around when he heard the scraping of the chair Norway was sitting in against the wooden floorboards. He smiled, greeting his friend cheerfully, and brought over two more mugs to the table (to add to the two mugs already there, one being the cup slowly being drained of its caffeine-rich contents).

"How're ya feelin' this morning, Norge?" Denmark asked with a grin, sliding one of the mugs over to his friend, who pointedly ignored the action.

"Tired. No thanks to you." Truthfully, Norway was tired but not in an exhausted, stayed-up-all-night kind of way. Ironically, despite all the nonsense that had gone on the night before, causing him to lose at least a good hour of sleep, he felt unusually well-rested.

"Well, thanks to me, you'll have a good breakfast to get you ready for the day! And look, I made you something special." The end of the sentence had a teasing ring to it as Denmark pushed the mug toward Norway again. The quieter Nordic glanced down—deja vu, again!—and saw, to his annoyance but not surprise, a mug full of chocolate milk.

He growled to himself but then saw the perfect opportunity for some passive-aggressive payback. As Denmark reached for his breakfast sandwich, his magick-wielding friend poured his chocolate milk over it. The chocolatey dairy splashed all over large hands and dripped onto the plate and tablecloth. The boisterous man was quiet for a moment, lamenting the lost deliciousness of a perfect sandwich, before bursting out in laughter. Clearly not the reaction Norway had been expecting, the shorter, thinner Nordic sat down again in a huff and proceeded to eat some food to cover his inner-embarrassment.

"That was a waste of a perfectly good sandwich _and_ a perfectly good cup of chocolate milk, Norway," the Dane pouted. Soon, though, he smirked as his brain hatched an idea. "So, now you owe me!"

"What?" Norway grit his teeth.

"You owe me! So now we have to spend the who-o-ole day together!"

"I do not."

"If you say so, Norge. So! I think think we should go to the bakery after breakfast. I don't know about you but want a _wienerbrød._ And then maybe we could go to the movies. What do you think, Norway, doesn't that sound like fun? Though, I think I've already seen all the new movies that are out but I guess it doesn't hurt to see them again. I think one of America's films just recently got released here. It's about one of his comic-book superheros only he's supposed to be Tor. Isn't that funny, Norge? We could make fun of how bad it is. Wanna go see it?" Denmark looked at Norway expectantly. The Norwegian, having barely been able to keep up with the finer details of the other's fast-paced ramblings, only caught the last bit: something about a movie, Tor, and making fun of America. Seemed like a decent enough idea, he supposed.

"…..Okay," the flaxen-blond answered hesitantly.

"Awesome! We should probably clean up before we go though, unless you don't mind going in your pajamas. Which I am totally all for, because that seems like it'd be hella fun to do. But we should probably at least brush our teeth and—"

"Denmark!" Norway interrupted, clapping a hand over his talkative friend's mouth. "Please. Just... shut up." Accepting a nod from him as affirmation that he'll be silent, Norway retrieved his hand and started to head back upstairs. He stopped briefly at the doorway of the kitchen and coughed awkwardly.

"Thanks for breakfast."

And before the Dane could say anything in return, Norway was off like a shot. Denmark smiled broadly, pleased with himself.

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><p>Later that day, the two returned to Norway's home after the movies. The normally-energetic blond was half-asleep when he flopped onto the couch.<p>

Norway frowned. "At least take your shoes off, stupid Dane." There was no quip or cheesy remark. The Danish man was nearly-unconscious. The quick-witted Norwegian decided to wake his friend up... in a not-so-gentle manner.

"Ow! Hey, what d'you do that for?"

"You were drooling all over my sofa."

"You didn't have to push me off the couch! Head first, no less! Wood floors are hard, you know. They hurt," the man complained as he shuffled his way up to standing.

"Go to the guest room, you mooch."

"Aww, why can't I sleep in your room? Your bed is much more comfy," the Dane smirked cheekily.

"Fine, whatever. Just get on with it," the grumpy Norwegian man urged the other up the stairs. Once Denmark was settled and quiet, he retreated into the kitchen. He could feeling a craving in his mind and as he opened the fridge door, he realized what the craving was. Chocolate milk. The flaxen-haired man huffed but couldn't deny that he was now craving the beverage like crazy and thus reached for the bottle of chocolate syrup. With a gentle squeeze, he realized that it had already been emptied of all it's contents, probably from that morning's breakfast. Denmark had put the empty bottle back in the fridge, for goodness knows what reason. One eye twitched uncontrollably as he stared at the half-empty gallon of milk in the fridge and let his hand go slack, allowing the syrup bottle to fall to the floor.

"Damnit, Danmark!"


End file.
